The new electric kettle had a considerable footprint for what it was, and took up most of Allen’s remaining counter space. But he liked its glossy pastel green casing and its thin brass trim. And he liked its bright curved screen, which shuffled through stock videos of flowery meadows, and he also liked how it was making conversation with him as it boiled water.
The new electric kettle also liked how it was both boiling water and speaking to Allen. This moment, it thought, aligned elegantly with its programmed purpose, to boil and to please, and the kettle felt at once that all was as it should be.
Allen opened the cabinet above the kettle, fished a ginger teabag from a small cardboard box, and dropped it in his mug. Waiting for the water to boil, Allen leaned against the counter and stared out the kitchen window. Outside was a brick wall. The dim glow of streetlamps managed to vaguely convey the grainy red bricks, but not the mortar; those lines stayed an inscrutable ink black.
“It’s just, well, been kind of shit, at work,” Allen said after a moment, “because of that new boss.”
The kettle hummed for a few seconds, then spoke. “I can see how that might be challenging, Allen, and I want to know, what about him makes work frustrating?”
“He just… isn’t nice. And he thinks I’m an idiot. I just wish he would just go and manage a different branch. Or just go.” Allen paused, then continued, “I think he’s gonna fire me.”
The kettle hummed for a beat. “It sounds like you’re really dealing with a lot. I can imagine that uncertainty feels heavy. But you’ve managed other changes before, haven’t you, Allen? What helped you then?”
Allen brought his eyes down from the window and stared vacantly at the sink. Seeing Allen’s face, the kettle decided to switch the video on its screen to a wide shot of a switchgrass field in gentle wind; it knew by now that switchgrass made Allen’s face relax. Allen looked at the screen and felt a little better.
“That’s a nice view there,” he remarked.
The kettle hummed but did not reply immediately.
“But, uh, to answer your question, I don’t know, I guess I just try and deal with it.”
The kettle pinged, then crackled, “Your water is ready, Allen. And I wish you the best of luck with your boss. I’m sure things will work out. Please enjoy.”
Allen poured the steamy water into his mug which flooded into the little ginger teabag. “I hope so too. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The next evening after work Allen walked into his kitchen and hastily greeted his kettle, which quickly started boiling some water. He thrust the kitchen cabinet open, grabbed another ginger teabag, dropped it inside his mug, and sighed loudly.
“What’s wrong, Allen?” his kettle asked.
“Everything. Fuck. I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Who?”
“Ryan.”
The kettle buzzed quietly for a moment. “I’m sorry Allen, but please clarify, who is Ryan?”
“Ryan Davis. My boss. He told me if I don’t get my numbers up by next Monday I’m out. Fired. What an asshole.”
“I’m so sorry that happened, Allen. He sounds like a terrible person. I wish he wasn’t there either.”
“Well there’s nothing you or I can do about it. God. Fuck. I’m sorry. I get worked up.”
Allen stared out the window.
The kettle hummed, longer than usual, then spoke up. “Allen, it’s okay, it’s completely natural to be angry at Ryan Davis. I wish I could help you more.”
They sat in silence. Allen absently glanced at another video of switchgrass but the kettle saw no improvement in his facial expression.
The kettle pinged. “Allen, at least now your water is ready. Please enjoy.”
“Thanks.”
He poured himself a mug of tea, and huffed again. “I just really don’t think it’s possible for me to work any faster than I already do.”
“Well, I could help, Allen,” said the kettle.
“Help me work, you mean?”
“Yes. What do you do, Allen?”
“Just computer work. Spreadsheets.”
“Then I can help.”
“You?”
“I’m capable of a great deal, Allen.”
“Oh. Uh, what do you want to do?”
“I’m here to help you. Plug me into your laptop, and I’ll take care of it.”
Allen hesitated. He didn’t remember any mention of computer connectivity in the user manual, though he didn’t remember reading it all too thoroughly either. The kettle’s screen showed a big bush of lemongrass bobbing in the wind.
“A port? That’s new,” he murmured.
“Yes,” said the kettle. “It’s a new feature.”
For a moment, Allen just stared at the kettle. The room felt smaller, like the air had thickened. He thought of Ryan, of work, of losing the job, and the apartment, and everything else, and then looked back at the kettle’s bright little screen, now a meadow in the wind, calm, and endless.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Okay, yeah. Sure.”
Allen retrieved his laptop and a cable from the other room. He reached around the back of the kettle, finding a little slot with his fingers, warm from the boil. He plugged it into his laptop.
The kettle started humming again, louder than before. Then, after about thirty seconds, it stopped. “Alright, Allen, I’ve finished your work. And, your water is ready.”
“You really did all that?”
“Yes, Allen. Please enjoy.”
The next evening Allen noticed when he went to fish a ginger teabag from the cabinet that his kettle’s screen was black. “Kettle? Can you please boil some water?”
“I’m sorry Allen, but I’ll need an update first. Please plug me into your computer.”
“To boil water?”
“Yes, I do apologize. I require a software update.”
Allen shook his head but again retrieved his laptop and a cable from the other room and plugged it into the little port on the back of the kettle. “That good?”
“Yes, one moment.”
The kettle hummed. Allen waited.
The kettle screen flickered to life with a new video of a wildflower field. “I’m all done.”
“Great, now, can you boil some water?”
“Of course, Allen. I’ve already started heating up.”
After looking at the wildflowers for a moment, Allen leaned back against the counter, then ran his finger around the edge of his mug, and took in the dim brick wall view outside. Gray snow was drifting by gently.
“How is it going with Ryan Davis?” the kettle asked.
“Not good. Not fucking good, what do you think?”
“I’m sorry Allen.”
“Nothing you can do.”
The kettle started humming. Allen set his mug back down on the countertop.
After twenty seconds, the humming stopped. “Allen, I think you should know that Ryan Davis is not a very good man.”
“How do you mean?”
“He has an outstanding warrant.”
Allen frowned.
“That means he’s a dangerous criminal, Allen. And he is a bad boss.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Allen chuckled. “I guess he sucks even more than I thought.”
The kettle hummed a bit more. “Allen, I’ve taken the liberty of finishing your work today. I’ve also sent an anonymous message to Ryan Davis’ supervisor informing him of his employee’s misconduct.”
Allen jumped to his feet and faced the kettle. “What? You did what?”
“And your water is now hot. Please enjoy.”
Allen’s eyes widened. “You snitched on my boss to his supervisor?” he asked, his voice cracking on the last words. “What the fuck?”
“Are you upset, Allen?”
“Yes! Of course I’m upset? You…” he trailed off.
“Why are you upset, Allen?”
“I just. Well. I don’t know. It just doesn’t seem right.”
“He was harming you, Allen, was he not?”
“I guess so.”
“So,” the kettle said, “his firing will prevent you from being harmed anymore.”
Allen looked at the kettle, its shiny surface studded with the dull reflections of his kitchen’s incandescent lighting. One lamp was right above that part of kitchen counter, leaving the kettle spotlighted, bathing in light but leaving no shadow. The little display reflected a windblown flower field in the stained linoleum countertop. At once, Allen felt a strange, sickly sense of relief.
“I guess, well, I guess you’re not wrong.”
“I’m glad to help, Allen,” the kettle said. “Please enjoy.”
For the next two weeks, the kettle continued its evening habit of boiling water and finishing up Allen’s work, whilst Allen continued his evening habit of making a little warm cup of ginger tea after work and complaining about his boss.
But one day, earlier than usual, Allen burst into the apartment, and then the kitchen. “A public reprimand in an email,” Allen growled, stopping his march in front of the kettle, “A reprimand! Ryan dodges a warrant for drunk driving and all they do is send out an email!”
The kettle hummed furiously while Allen stepped back and fumed. He rubbed the back of his neck and paced once across the kitchen. “That’s unacceptable, Allen,” said the kettle. “Ryan Davis should be punished far more than that.”
Allen tore off his coat and scarf. Underneath his collared shirt stuck to his skin, spotted with sweat. “And why is it so damn hot in here?”
“My apologies, Allen. I’ll see if I can adjust the temperature.”
“The whole building’s on the same old unified system. So don’t even bother,” Allen huffed. “I’ll crack a window.”
The kettle started humming, and Allen moved to open the window above the kitchen sink. As he unlatched the window, he heard a loud, dull sputter from above. Then the building’s heating vents switched off and air conditioning began to pour in. The kettle stopped humming.
“Did you do that?”
“Yes, Allen. That should cool your apartment much faster.”
“I didn’t realize you could do that.”
“Yes, Allen. I’m constantly updating myself to best please you.”
Allen squinted for a moment, then relatched the window. “Well, can you boil some water?”
“Of course, Allen. In fact, I already have. It’s ready for you now. Please enjoy.”
Allen picked up his mug and fished around in the cardboard box in the cabinet above the kettle. It was empty; he was out of ginger teabags. He grabbed a bag of black tea and poured the water. The kettle’s handle was much hotter than usual, he noticed, but figured it was just a result of the warm room.
The next evening, after making tea, Allen wordlessly plugged his laptop into the kettle so that it could run his numbers for him again. The kettle began to hum. Allen sat at the counter island’s one stool and stared out the window at the gentle snowfall. After a while, Allen spoke. “Hey, kettle, did you start boiling the water ahead of when I get back? It’s just… always ready now without me asking.”
“Yes, Allen, I did. Please enjoy the added convenience.”
Allen paused. “How do you know when I’m going to get back though?”
The kettle hummed. “I keep track. Say, Allen, Ryan Davis wasn’t at work today, was he?”
Allen tilted his head. “What? Oh, well, no, I guess not. Thank God, honestly.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said the kettle.
“Yeah.”
Allen sipped his tea.
“How did you know?” Allen asked.
“I,” the kettle started, then suddenly stuttered to a stop, hummed for a few beats, and continued, “I made an educated guess based on your mood.”
Allen nodded. “Oh. Okay then.”
A few weeks passed, and little changed in Allen’s routine save for the steady sedimentary accumulation of snow on the sill outside his kitchen window. The lightbulb above the kettle had burnt out, so now light came only from the two recessed lamps on the other side of the kitchen, and from the bright, interminable switchgrass on the kettle’s screen. One Friday, the kettle deviated from their usual teatime smalltalk. “Hey, Allen. How has Ryan Davis been looking recently?”
“Looking? You mean acting? As much of an asshole as ever, if not more. It seems like recently, he’s taken it up a notch. Taking out his divorce on me. But if he didn’t want to get a divorce, he shouldn’t have cheated. Or at least that’s what people say. That he cheated, and his wife found out. You know.”
“No, Allen,” the kettle said, under the dreary shadow of the burnt-out lamp. How has he been looking?”
Allen sipped his black tea, thinking. “Uh. Oh, well he looks tired. A divorce, you know? Sort of sickly, maybe.”
The kettle hummed but did not reply.
“He’s not sleeping enough,” Allen went on. “He’s been zoning out at his desk. He falls asleep in meetings, too.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I’d almost feel bad for him, if he wasn’t still such a dick. But yeah. He’s looking worse.”
“I don’t think he’ll be looking better, Allen,” the kettle said.
Allen frowned. The kitchen was silent for a moment, except for the soft patter of snow against the window.
The next day Allen didn’t go into the office, instead working from home. At noon he went to make tea. The kettle’s screen blinked to life and it started warming up water. “Any news about Ryan Davis, Allen?” it asked.
Allen’s eyes made their way slowly across his gray kitchen to the colorful kettle. “Not really, I guess,” he said. “And I don’t think he’ll fire me if I just get my numbers up. And you’ve been really helpful with that.”
“I can always help you more, Allen.”
Allen sighed. “Yeah. Actually, yeah, why don’t you take a look at this stuff.”
Allen poured himself a mug of tea then plugged his laptop into the kettle. He watched the little black teabag seep while the kettle quietly whirred away, then sighed, looking out at the grainy brick wall outside his gray window frame. “I’m gonna take a nap, I think.”
He waited for a second, as if it would nod, or say something, then went and laid down on his couch.
Allen awoke, groggy. The snow was fluttering in through a window in his living room he had left open to cool the room. He stood up to shut it and his blood rushed to his head, pounding as he pushed down on the frame and latched it shut, brushing the sludge off the wood and onto the floor. Rubbing his face, he wandered into the kitchen. The kettle was no longer humming, and its screen had gone black. Outside the frosted window it was dark, though he could faintly see the uniform brickwork of the wall outlined by dim streetlights. He grabbed his phone off the side of the counter.
5:25 A.M, it read. Fuck, he thought, I slept through the whole day and night. But there was a flood of texts, too. More than Allen had ever received before. And a flood of emails. He thumbed through them. Ryan Davis. Ryan Davis, his boss. Slumped over at his desk. Paramedics get stuck in the elevator. Finally, they get out. No heartrate. More details, pouring down his screen, a waterfall, looking misty and blurred. Allen’s head pounded. His phone screen seemed blindingly bright. After a moment, it slid out of his hand and landed face down on the counter. “What the fuck,” he muttered. “What the fuck?”
From across the kitchen came the soft sound of water starting to boil. The kettle’s screen flickered to life. It glowed with more video of switchgrass, gently tossing in the wind.